


"Disavowed" or "Ramsay Finds Someone To Marry Him"

by SnowWhiteKnight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Delivery Boy!Pod, Don't take it too seriously, Executive!Oberyn, F/M, Fake Marriage, Gen, Internet Sensation!Ramsay, Lawyer!Beric, Lawyer!Sandor, M/M, Prank Wars, Receptionist!Sansa, Silly, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight
Summary: Roose gives Ramsay an ultimatum. Oberyn is not pleased by how it plays out and seeks to right the injustice. Hilarity ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsbestosMouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsbestosMouth/gifts).



> So...yeah... I started this three days ago, I'm exhausted (due to rl stuff) and because of that, this fic might not make a whole lotta sense, but hopefully it's a fun ride for everyone.
> 
> Shout out to Sassyeggs, who helped me with some of the lines and research. Sort of.

“And unless you're married by the end of the year, I will be disowning you and you will not inherit a single copper from me.”

“Could just kill you now and get it over with,” Ramsay snarled. His hand itched to grab the letter opener sitting at his father's right hand. Or the dagger he liked to carry in his boot. Or even the tea spoon resting next to the teacup his stepmother had brought in for him. Anything could become a shiv if you applied enough force.

His father had called him into his study to speak with him, “on urgent family business” he had said. _More like urgent family bullshit._

“You could, but your fate is sealed either way,” Roose drolled on. Sometimes Ramsay wondered if Roose was touched in the head and did crap like this just for the sake of his own amusement. “If you had courted the Stark girl like I suggested, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

“She’s boring. I hate boring. Who the hell courts anymore?”

His father sighed. “I’ve already changed my will. And I have a copy for you, just so you don’t forget.” He handed over a sheet of paper. “This has everything that pertains to you. You have until December thirty-first.”

_Bitch. I will own you._

**********

“Willas, you really need to get out more. Oberyn wouldn’t want you to mope about. He’s only going to be in Dorne for…a little while,” Margaery said, sweeping back the closed curtains. Willas winced from the bright light.

“No…” he moaned. “I am a vampire, and I need the dark. And Oberyn. He is my most delicious meal. He is the sun to my moon, and I shall mourn his loss until he returns.”

Margaery giggled. “I’m sure he would enjoy hearing that, but you need to get up, get out, and oh gods, you stink. Shower first. Then go out.”

Willas mumbled something incoherent, but didn’t get going until Margery flipped the mattress on him.

**********

“And then he tells me I should have gone after Stark, but does he take my opinion into consideration, of course not. Because he’s a fucking little bitch about bitchy bitchness.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Ramsay,” Beric said, and Sandor agreed.

“Don’t care. Dad’s a bitch either way.” Ramsay had his chin on the edge of Sandor’s desk and began to gnaw on it. Sansa, who had just brought in coffee for everyone, smacked his shoulder to stop him, but he just growled at her and kept at it. Sandor shrugged at her, as if to say, _You tried._ She sighed in defeat and returned to her desk in the front room.

Sandor had been surprised when Ramsay had come to see him instead of Beric, but Sandor was the better of the two lawyers when it came to contracts, so he supposed it made sense. Beric had been just as surprised and had wandered in to listen. Not standard operating procedure, but Ramsay hadn’t cared, so Sandor didn’t either.

“So is there any way around it?”

“Well, from what I’m reading here, not really. You have to marry, it has to be legal, it has to be by New Year’s Eve, and if you don’t, you’ll be disowned. It’s fairly airtight. The only leeway I can see is that he doesn’t state who it is you have to marry. As long as it’s legal, you could marry, I don't know... _Willas Tyrell_... and it would work.”

The absolute glee in Ramsay’s eye disturbed Sandor more than he cared to admit.

**********

Willas was moping about the coffee shop when Ramsay came in. His eyes were more maniacal than usual, and Willas had the sudden instinct to flee, but was rooted to the spot like the flowers the Tyrells were known for.

Ramsay flipped off the barista who greeted him and made a beeline for Willas. “You’re going to marry me,” he told Willas.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You. Me. Married.”

“I don’t follow…”

“How hard is this to understand, Tyrell?” Ramsay snarled. “I’m putting a ring on your finger and you’ll be my wife, and then my father won’t disown me.”

“Your father is going to disown you??” That sounded horrible. Mace might be a bit of a dunderhead, but Willas had no illusion that his father didn’t care about him and his siblings. He was a bit too caring when it came to Loras and Margaery, but he and Garlan had learned to live with that sort of favoritism.

“Unless I marry. And if I marry you in particular, that will really stick in his back teeth.”

“It will?”

“He wanted me to marry Sansa fucking Stark. She’s pretty, I guess, but so fucking boring. And she comes with a guard dog that I can’t control. I only need one dog, and I’ve got one. So. _Fuck. That. Shit.”_

“That sounds unhygienic.”

Ramsay stared at him. “Perfect. You are the perfect person to annoy the hell out of my dad. So come on, what do you say?”

“I don’t know… Obie wouldn’t like it.”

“Are you fucking?”

“What? Me and Obie? No! We’re… we’re just friends… Really good friends. Best friends. He feeds me grapes sometimes.”

“And that seems like ‘just friends’ to you?”

"Well, yeah... who hasn't done that with their friends, amirite?"

“Me. I haven’t. I don’t do that.”

“Oh. You’re missing out.” He reached for some of his coffee cake and held it out to Ramsay.

“For the love of...do not try to feed me. Anything. Ever. So. Will you marry me.” Ramsay stared, then added, “Please.”

“Well… I guess so. But I have to tell Oberyn…”

Ramsay whipped out his phone and furiously texted on it. “Done. Now he knows.”

**********

Much later, Oberyn was finally able to look at the series of texts he had received during his meeting. He started with the most recent one first, from Tyrion Lannister.

**NotImp: Surprised  at this turn of events. I surely thought YOU’D be the one claiming that Tyrell’s ass.**

Oberyn frowned. The only Tyrell he could be referring to was his darling Willas, and he most assuredly would be claiming it, but not until Willas was ready. He had cultivated a lasting relationship with the shyest of the Tyrell horde. _Love is not a sprint, it’s a marathon._

He continued to scroll through the messages, most of them along the same lines as Tyrion’s, though more politely than his favorite Lannister had. Second to last message was from his Willas.

**MyHeart: Obie, please give me a call when you have a moment. I need to talk to you. Don’t mind whatever Ramsay says.**

He chuckled and went on to the last message, which was indeed from Ramsay Bolton.

**StupidHobbit: Bitch, I am marrying Willas. Have reasons. Suck a dick.**

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. _If he thinks he is taking my darling boy away from me, he has another thing coming._

**********

“Good morning, Clegane!” Willas called out to Sandor. Their office wasn't officially open for the day yet, but his little bird was making coffee for Willas Tyrell. _Pretty fucker, even if he is a cripple._ Sansa had strange tastes, considering she was secretly dating Sandor, and he worried constantly that some more handsome man would one day show up and whisk her away. Not that he would ever blame her for leaving him, but that didn't mean he couldn't dread it happening.

“Mornin’,” he grumbled. His favorite time of the day was when he got to the office and Sansa had a cup of coffee and a kiss for him. Sometimes he regretted insisting on keeping the relationship a secret, as he couldn't get his morning kiss at the moment.

“Willas, dear, why don't you go out on the balcony to wait for Beric?” Sansa suggested. “It's much nicer and more comfortable than the waiting room, and I have to go over some things with Mr. Clegane before he starts his work day.”

Sandor admired how her skirt accentuated her lovely bottom as Willas nodded and took his mug. Sansa lead him out the balcony door, smiling to himself like an idiot. Sandor almost envied the man for being so carefree, then remembered he had agreed to marry _Ramsay_ of all people. Who knew how long that carefree attitude would last after that.

Once in his personal office, Sansa shut the door behind her and kissed him, whispering, “Good morning.”

“Only good when you're around,” he said. It hadn't started that way. She had been the annoyingly chipper bane to his mornings, but somewhere along the way, she had lost her fear of him and had even become attracted to him. _Kooky little bird,_ he thought fondly.

She smiled brightly at him. “Maybe I can sleep over once in awhile, give you a _really_ good morning.”

“Wouldn't want to ruin a morning like that by coming to work.”

She giggled, a charming tinkling of bells to his hearing. “I could make you want to come to work…”

“And how would you do that?” he asked, amused by her buoyancy.

“Well, Willas has been ‘accidentally’ locked out on the balcony, Beric's not due in for another half hour…” She leaned in, unbuttoning the top of her blouse, “Whatever shall we do to kill the time?”

Sandor raised both eyebrows, good and bad. _A very good start to the day indeed._

**********

“I think Mr. Clegane and Sansa are having a relationship,” Willas told him once they were securely in Beric's office and out of earshot.

Sandor and Sansa's relationship was possibly the worst kept secret among their friends, and everyone was taking bets on when they would go public.

“Being loud this morning, were they?” Beric asked kindly. Willas nodded. “Yes, well, that's why I come in half an hour later than them. Don't want to listen to their _happiness,_ even if I am happy for them. Now, what can I do for you?”

“Ah, yes, well, this is about Ramsay… He asked me to marry him…”

“I am aware.”

“And I was just wondering, why didn't he ask you? I mean, you're dating, aren't you?”

“Mmmm, we're not dating _per se,_ more like we share common interests that could be confused with a sexual relationship.”

“Yes, but wouldn't that make you a more likely candidate for his...wife? Husband? Partner. That's the word.”

Beric sighed. He had been hurt that Ramsay hadn't even considered him when had been in the room, standing right next to him, when Sandor had given Ramsay the idea, but it wasn't in his nature to hold onto such negative emotions. “Possibly. However, he asked you and you agreed. Are you having second thoughts?”

Willas got up and paced the room, worrying his hands in such an alarming way. Beric almost expected sparks to start flying. “I've been having second thoughts since Ramsay mentioned it! But how does one say no to Ramsay and not get violence heaved onto oneself? I fear him, but I can't find a way out of it. I was hoping you would be able to speak to him…”

“I can try, but Ramsay does have a tendency of digging in his heels when someone tells him he shouldn't.”

**********

“So, what sort of wedding are you wanting?” Sansa asked him. Ramsay was playing with his phone, not paying attention at all. It was to be a quick affair, nothing like what his grandmother would plan, but Sansa said she would help in any way that she could.

“Something light, lots of soft whites and beiges, open air, white and cream roses…” Willas looked over at Ramsay. “I don’t know about him.”

“Whatever you want, _dearest,”_ Ramsay said without looking up.

**********

“I will destroy Ramsay,” Oberyn told Beric. The other man merely blinked a few times and then sighed noticeably over the video chat.

_“He's only doing this to piss off his father. Once he's grown bored, he'll dissolve the marriage.”_

“And in between now and then? He will have full use of my sweet boy, legal and binding use. Willas is a delicate flower, blooming only with the gentlest of caresses, the softest of touches. Ramsay regularly punches you, and he is _fond_ of you. What will he do to my Willas?!”

Beric put his hands up, his face looking haggard and tired. _“Likely nothing. Ramsay and I have an understanding. He doesn't do anything to me that I do not approve of. He may be a tiny psychopath, but he won't do anything without consent.”_

“I do not trust him. Warn him. Oberyn Martell is coming for him.”

**********

“What the fuck is that?” Ramsay asked.

The delivery driver shrugged. “Congratulatory fruit basket?”

Ramsay growled and signed for it. Later, he swung by Willas’ loft. “Here. Someone sent this to me. For our… wedding. Yay.”

“Oh, I love fruit! You don't want it?”

“Hate fruit. Maybe if it was a smoked meat basket. Keep it. ‘K, bye.”

**********

“Oh my goodness, Willas, what happened?!” Sansa exclaimed when he opened the door.

“Dunno,” he said, his voice altered by the stuffy nose. “Lergic reaction to sumthen, I s’pose.”

“You poor dear. Come, I'll make you some hot tea, help clear your sinuses.”

“Dank yoo.”

**********

The delivery guy came by the next day. “Another one?” Ramsay asked.

The guy just shrugged and handed over the scanner to sign. Ramsay left the soap gift basket with Sansa, who answered Willas’ door.

“I'll make sure he gets it. Poor dear is having the worst allergic reaction I've ever seen,” she said.

“Or you could keep it. Scented soaps probably not going to help him,” Ramsay said, bored already. “‘K, bye.”

**********

“What the hell happened to you?” Sandor demanded when Sansa opened the door, but then took a step back. She hadn't shown up to work, so Sandor had gone to her apartment to find her. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, but her hair and her skin…

“I'm a giant carrot!!” she bawled. Her luxurious auburn locks had been dyed green, and her creamy white skin was now as orange as a pumpkin. “A carrot!!” she repeated, bursting into tears. Or a carrot.

Sandor took her into his arms and tried his best to soothe her. “I'd still fuck you, no matter what color you are.”

He wasn't sure if she was laughing or crying harder.

**********

“I hope you're not expecting a fucking tip from me,” Ramsay told the delivery guy. “Three days, asshole. This makes it three days in a row!”

The guy shrugged. “I just deliver where I'm told. Please sign.”

Ramsay grumbled but signed for the basket. He unceremoniously dumped it on Beric's desk later. Beric wasn't there, and neither was jerky face or boring Sansa. _Bitches love Pringles. So I brought it to you, bitch,_ he wrote in his note. _Come by my place tonight. You might get lucky._

**********

“Oh, Pringles, my favorite!” Jaime said, stealing a can of the pressed potato snacks. He wandered back out to the lobby to wait for Clegane to return and popped open the salty, delicious treat. Brienne stared at him.

“Put that back!”

“Too late!” Jaime yelled, taking a big, crunchy bite of a small stack of chips, then immediately spitting them out. “Ugh, that was so gross.”

“Probably expired. Serves you right.”

“No, they don't taste stale. More like… oh. Em. GEE.”

“What?”

“They have no flavoring!” He looked down at the chips in his hand and then threw them across the room in horror. Brienne groaned at the mess.

“What was that for? You could have just thrown them away.”

“They have no flavoring, wench! Don't you know what that means?! Oh gods, I need mouthwash...”

“No, what does it mean Jaime?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Somebody licked them clean. _They licked them. CLEAN._ ”

“You have got to be joking.”

“I wish. I did that to Tyrion once. It was a pain to set up, but the look on his face when he realized was so worth it.”

“Gods help me, I married a moron,” she said with a laugh.

**********

“What’s your name anyway?”

“Why?

Ramsay glared. “I want to know what name to write on your tombstone when I inevitably snap and kill you from the amount of deliveries you bring me.”

The guy’s impressive eyebrows went up. “Fair enough, I suppose. Pod. My name is Pod. Sign here please.”

Ramsay slammed the door and took a look at the contents of the box. A dozen packages of Oreos. “Ugh… Gross. Who can I pawn these off on?”

**********

“Oh, who bought these cookies? You know I’m on a diet, Alys.”

“Apologies, Miss Walda. But those were here when I came in. Perhaps Mr. Roose bought them? He did say you were looking too skinny.”

“Oh, that Roosie,” Walda cooed as she opened the first package. “He always did spoil me.” She happily bit into the cookie, and then frantically spit it back out.

“Miss Walda?”

“Toothpaste! Someone exchanged the creme center for cheap, gritty _toothpaste!!”_

**********

“I’m really starting to hate your face, Pod.”

“Sorry, sir. Please sign.”

“Fucking donuts. I _hate_ donuts.”

**********

“Where’d you get the donuts?” Jon asked as he walked into the lounge of the Night’s Watch fraternity.

“The donut faerie,” responded Sam. He had just opened a large box of two dozen creme filled donuts. “Someone left it on the front counter. Hey, is Sansa ever coming out of her apartment again? I was thinking she’d like to come with us to the wine tasting on Saturday.”

“As far as I know, whatever disaster struck her, it’s yet to stop, so...ask her on Friday. By text. Just in case. Gimme a donut. Haven’t had one in ages.” _Chomp._ “OH GODS!!!”

“What?! Jon! What’s wrong!” Sam called out as Jon raced into the restroom.

“Don’t… oh gods…” Sam could hear Jon retching into the toilet. “Don’t eat… they’re…” More retching. “Warm… Mayonnaise donuts…” Sam threw away the donuts and ran to get Maester Aemon.

**********

“I swear to the old gods, Pod, if it’s something sweet…”

“I’m just the delivery boy, sir. Please sign.”

Ramsay signed and then threw a candied apple at Pod’s head as he retreated to his truck.

**********

“Where’d you get the candy apples?” Tyrion asked.

“Some kid said was throwing them at people so I took them off his hands. Waste of food.” Bronn bit into one. “Hmm...not bad. Not a candy apple though.”

“Let me try one.” Tyrion reached for a shiny, red treat.

“Uh, sir, before you bite, you should know--”

“UGH! Fuck! What the hell is that?!”

“Candied onions, sir. Not bad, if you can stand it.” Bronn took another bite. “Rather like it myself.”

**********

“Pod.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I have a long knife behind the door.”

Pod took a step back. “If it helps, I think it’s not food at all. Please sign.”

Ramsay brought the box in and slammed the door. “Huh… Office chair. Just got a new one. Much better than this. What do you think, Belle?” he asked his pitbull. “Gave Walda the cookies. Maybe Dad would like a new chair. It’ll freak him out to get something this nice but not know who the fuck gave it to him.” Ramsay cackled. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

**********

“Alys,” Roose called out.

“Yes, Mr. Roose?” The maid popped her head into his study.

“Did my wife buy me a new chair?”

“Not that I know of, sir, but I haven’t seen her all day.”

“Alright. Get back to work then.” Roose studied the gift, a comfortable looking chair with a bright pink bow on it. “Must have been Walda, feeling contrite over yelling at me for no reason the other day.” He sat down in the chair with a mighty _thud!_ and  _sproing!_ was then thrown across his desk as the chair sprang apart, a large spring coil now exposed as the main support.

**********

“Pod. I will find out where you live. And I will murder you.”

Pod stared at him for a moment. “I can deliver it to someone else, if it pleases you, sir. Just a name and address.”

Ramsay was about to tell Pod where he could shove the delivery, the name _and_ the address, when his phone chimed. He quickly read the text message. “Shit… Never mind. Give it here. I know who can have this one. Been feeling a bit bad that I stole his candy boy. Seriously bad. Like, regrettably bad. Hey, you wanna come to a wedding?”

**********

“Dearly beloveded… We are slathered here… No, that’s not right…” Theon said. Asha rolled her eyes. Theon had been practicing so much, that he was now messing up because he was so tired.

“Relax, you strawberry tart. You’re just going to mess up the more you stress out. C’mon. Let’s straighten your tie.”

Theon stood in front of his sister and let her pull and tuck at his clothing.

“There. Handsome as you’ll ever be, I suppose. Why did you volunteer to marry your ex-boyfriend to the man you consider your greatest rival?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No. That’s why I asked.”

Theon smirked. “It’s rather brilliant. Think about it. This marriage is all rushed, yes? And Oberyn’s out of town on business. That means, he either doesn’t know, or he knows and is pissed about the entire thing. So, if Ramsay and Willas marry, then Oberyn will be free to pursue others.”

“Such as yourself?”

“Exactly! I am quite comforting when I need to be.”

“When you need to get laid, you mean,” Asha drawled.

“That, too. But, say that Oberyn rushes in at the last minute, breaks up the wedding and whisks Willas off. Ramsay will be crushed, and then _he’ll_ be in need of comfort. And I’ll be right there to make sure he gets it. See? It’s win-win.”

“You’re an idiot. At least you have me to depend on. Let’s go. Ceremony starts in an hour.”

**********

“Obie! You made it!” Willas hugged his favorite friend. Possibly for a little too long, but he just smelled so nice! So exotic and manly...

“Yes, sweet boy. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Where is your happy partner?”

“Ramsay? Not sure. Saw him come in. Looked upset about something, but he usually looks upset, so it probably wasn’t anything serious.”

Oberyn looked a bit smug. “I’m sure it’s nothing. How have you been, my sweet Willas?”

“Oh, you know, can’t complain. Even when I got that horrible allergy attack. Must have been a bad mango. Sansa got it worse though, her hair was dyed green somehow, and her skin became orange. Oh, and I heard Jon Snow got sick on some bad donuts. And Roose! Oh my goodness, he sat on a chair and got flung across the room! Someone rigged it to act like an ejection seat! He’s wearing a neck brace because he strained the muscles when he landed on them. Terrible accident.”

Oberyn stared at him. “That’s...a lot of bad luck this week.”

“Oh, yes, but I’m sure it will all turn out well. Now, I have to go get ready--”

“Willas, I cannot let you marry him. He’s not… You’re too good for him.”

“I don’t know about _that,_ though I do have reservations about our compatibility… And Grandmother’s not happy. Margaery understands, but she doesn’t like it either.” Willas looked over. “Oh, here comes Ramsay.”

“My blushing… Willas,” Ramsay said. He looked uncharacteristically somber. “Ok, enough of that. Here, Oberyn. This is for you.” Willas watched as Ramsay stiffly handed a box to Obie. “I’ve made a decision. I can’t marry Willas. But we have all this stuff, and all these people. Plus my dad already paid for it all. You should marry him instead. I mean, that’s what you want, isn’t it? Both of you.”

“But your father…” Willas started.

“My father can go suck a dick. Probably has at some point in his life. Or he can go suck on Walda’s big fat tits. I don’t really give a fuck. I spent this entire week getting rid of wedding gifts, and today I realized, I don’t give a fuck about if I’m disowned or not. If anything, it's going to make my dad look horrible, and I’ve got income. I don't need to depend on him. I’m living comfortable on my own and I’ve got my Beric. I’m… I’m good. So yeah…” he said, looking angrily at the ground.

Oberyn was opening the gift Ramsay had given him, curious about the contents.

“That is the final gift. Since you’re the one who should marry Willas, I figured you should have it or something…” Ramsay muttered, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. He seemed uncomfortable being nice and it made Willas smile. Ramsay was unexpectedly adorable at times.

“Wait, the last wedding delivery you got? This is it?” Oberyn asked, looking up. His hands had a death grip on the box.

“Yeah. Got it just this morning. Why?”

“I…” _BOMPH!_ Glitter exploded everywhere, mostly on Oberyn, who had just opened the Glitter Bomb™.

“You look like a stripper clown just bukkaked you,” Ramsay said. “I guess all three of us do, actually.”

Willas gasped. “Oh, my…”

**********

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to witness the union of Willas Tyrell to Oberyn Martell,” Theon started glumly.

It was a lovely ceremony, despite the haphazard thrown together quality of it, and the fact that Oberyn was still covered in glitter. “The herpes of the arts and crafts world,” Sandor had said very unhelpfully. Beric had shushed him, even if it was funny.

Sansa was snuggled against Sandor’s side, her hair had been styled and cut to an adorable pixie cut, and would eventually grow out to have colors on the ends. She had spent several days at the spa getting her skin down from an awful orange to a light beige. Something had changed between the two, and were admitting to their relationship, and winning Beric a hundred gold dragons.

Arya had taken over the wedding planning duties during that time, and was running it like a military organization. The only blip on her radar had been the cute delivery guy Ramsay had invited, and she was currently chatting him up as she ordered the caterers around for the reception.

“So what are you going to do about your father?” Beric asked Ramsay, who was attacking his slice of wedding cake with a vengeance and a suspiciously sharp looking plastic knife.

“Nothing. Don't care about him. Got my games, got my bitch, and I got my dog. Don't need anything else.” He looked up at Beric. “But…”

“But?”

“But I really do like to fuck with Dad. And look at how smug he is, even with that neck brace. So, maybe… you and I… go down to the courthouse...get it official and everything…”

Beric smiled. “I would be honored.”

Ramsay scowled. “It’s not like I love you or anything, bitch.”

“Of course not. Did you get my text this morning? The one wishing you good luck today?”

“Maybe...I don’t know,” Ramsay said, taking a big bite of cake to prevent further discussion.

**Author's Note:**

> And no one ever discovered Oberyn Martell's secret prank war... Dun DUN duuuuuunnnnnnnn!


End file.
